


The Chess Set

by sleepdrunk



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-13 06:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepdrunk/pseuds/sleepdrunk
Summary: It took Jim weeks of intensive labour in his downtime and judicious over-programming of the already overtaxed replicators, but he rebuilt Spock’s beloved 3D chess set. A usable set probably could have been procured at any half decent federation outpost, but they didn’t have shore leave scheduled for some time. Besides, as Jim said; it was a symbol of a friendship, hard forged in the fires of battle and the loneliness of deep space. Jim simply couldn’t lethistactical mistake rob his first officer of this shared pleasure, sophisticated in its simplicity.





	The Chess Set

**Author's Note:**

> This one's a reworked older fic.

“Oh, Spock,” Jim said as he knelt in Spock’s quarters, gathering shattered chess pieces. “I’m so sorry about your set.” He rolled a piece in his hands. A jagged edge caught on his thumb and sliced the skin.

“It is no matter, I--”

“No, I’ll--,” he frowned and sucked on the bleeding digit. “I’ll build you a new one.”

///

It took Jim weeks of intensive labour in his downtime and judicious over-programming of the already overtaxed replicators, but he rebuilt Spock’s beloved 3D chess set. A usable set probably could have been procured at any half decent federation outpost, but they didn’t have shore leave scheduled for some time. Besides, as Jim said; it was a symbol of a friendship, hard forged in the fires of battle and the loneliness of deep space. Jim simply couldn’t let _his_ tactical mistake rob his first officer of this shared pleasure, sophisticated in its simplicity. 

Jim built the pieces from a composite material of his own creation, and incorporated gemstone found only on Vulcan. _Creative engineering_ and questionable use of command-level clearance on the aforementioned replicators were put to work in a seldom-used workroom that had adequate ventilation. Spock discovered its location and peered inside at the work in progress when Kirk was absent. For two weeks, the project had taken no immediately discernible form. On the third, the delicate tri-level board was completed. Jim fished out a set of archaic woodworking tools from the depths of his quarters, and scooped and scraped and sanded.

He moved his work into Spock’s quarters after that. Jim sat at Spock’s desk in the small guest chair, painstakingly completing the tiny figurines that made up the chess pieces.

In the same position where they habitually played for long years, he sat, squinting at an angular crystal queen. 

Spock rose from his meditation, sweeping aside a bead curtain which delineated the space. He found Jim in the same constrained position as he had been several hours ago, his focus concentrated on a single tiny point. He worked by a small desk lamp in the otherwise dimmed room, and his hands were covered with dust. 

“Jim…” Spock He was growing concerned. His captain was a young man still; but he was human. His sight already required monitoring. Jim breathed in and rolled his shoulders and neck, joints popping audibly. He looked as though he were waking from an unsatisfying sleep; he rolled his wrists and they cracked too. His hands went to his hips and he arched his back, stretching that too; and rotated his pelvis. 

Spocked allowed his indulgent stare to linger on the robust body before him. Soft, yielding flesh with skin that felt like a fat peach-- thick with moisture and microscopic fur-- sat inconspicuous atop formidable musculature. Spock wanted to hold him; to grip his waist as he had so many times before. He would be damp, Spock knew; perspiring as always in the high temperature of his quarters. 

He swallowed down this urge, missing instantly the inexplicable association with _home_. He might yet still be rebuffed, and must tread carefully. He spoke, but was dismayed at his own babbling. “Doctor Mccoy informs me that this particular type of intricate work, when performed in dim lighting with inadequate magnification, will “_wreak havoc on your damn eyeballs_”. Additionally, your posture at m--”

“Spock,” Jim warned, his tone warm. He stretched his legs, which likely sported red indentations from where they pressed unrelentingly into the stool. “I’m sorry, I… I want to finish this for you so badly. I had hoped it’d be done last week, but-- well, you know how these things go.” Jim stood, and stretched his arms in varying positions, all the while tidying the makeshift work area as best as he could. “God, I should move it back out to the--”

Spock took one long step forward into Jim’s space. He became silent, his lips parting and his eyes searching Spock’s face. 

“Jim.” Spock captured his wrists firmly, stil

ling his motions. He slid his hands up to clasp Jim’s, bringing his knuckles up to kiss them. Jim inhaled in surprise. “I was mistaken.”

///

“I was mistaken. Ashayam,” he declared, his head bowed in supplication. He looked up into Jim’s eyes, laying devotional kisses over his skin. Jim gawped in an aborted protest but he seemed unable to articulate. “For myself,” he kissed a knuckle, eyes closing. “The pretense that I am able to exist in an emotional vacuum.” Another kiss to another knuckle, and his eyes met Jim’s under heavy lids. 

Jim squeaked. “Spock,” he said, throat thick with emotion. “I thought-- When you left to go through _Kolinahr_. I thought you’d-- that _we _had decided that our ‘youthful indiscretions’ had been a mistake. Y--” He grew fearful, posture expanding as he began to retreat. Spock gripped his arms above the elbows. Jim looked at him; eyes bewildered and impossibly sad. Spock eased him back into the seat and knelt before him. Jim looked down from under dark lashes. His mouth was swollen and turned down, but a reluctant smile bled through. 

“I-- I didn’t mean to hang around and break your resolve, you know.” He tried for levity.

“Whether or not the ensuing result was the fruit of concerted effort or happenstance due to our mutual longing is irrelevant.” He kissed Jim’s hands, who squeezed his fingers in return.

Jim’s expression was one of disbelief, his eyes bright and wet as they scanned Spock’s face. 

“I thought it was all over between us. Well, I mean--,” he paused, expression unreadable. I couldn’t lose your friendship. I was making peace with it, I--”

“If you are uncomfortable, I apologize. If you wish it, I shall cease and we need not--”

“Spock, you dope.” A grin split his face. “Get up here and kiss me.”

///

Spock stood. In his haste to kiss Jim’s lips, he checked the seat with his hip and it clattered to the floor. The racket went ignored. Jim inhaled through his nose and his jaw slackened, soft tongue searching. 

“Spock,” he breathed, barely breaking their kiss to speak. Spock leaned over him and placed his hands on the table for support, pressing hungry kisses all over his lips between Jim’s words. “Hey, we--” another kiss. His hands stuttered through Spock’s hair. 

Spock’s fingers snuck up underneath Jim’s top, greedily kneading the subcutaneous fat, sliding over skin dewy with sweat. 

There was a whimper and a puff of air from Jim, and the hands at his neck tensed as Jim pushed up. Spock opened for him, deepening their kiss. Jim was seeking something, losing himself. Spock tilted his hips, closing the infinitesimally small distance still between them and full contact. A grunt from Jim-- he raked fingers through Spock’s hair and relaxed. 

He slid his arms around Spock’s neck, and kissed him again. The desire to grind mercilessly against Jim until they both came all too early, no doubt destroying Jim’s hard work in the process, was overwhelming. He gave in, thrusting short and sharp a few more times, the edge of a bite creeping into the kiss. He hoisted Jim bodily off the desk. 

Spock lifted Jim’s full weight easily and walked the short distance to the small bed. Jim’s belly rose and fell against Spock’s chest, thighs gripping his waist, and he kept kissing him and wriggling in the hold. Spock lowered Jim to the bed, but Jim held him fast, locking his ankles and smirked up at him defiantly. Spock followed him down, supporting himself with his forearms behind Jim’s shoulders. 

They kissed long and slow, enjoying the sensation, until Jim’s arousal became impossible to ignore. “Please,” he said between kisses, his hands framing Spock’s face. “Please, I need you.” 

Spock obeyed, the desperation returning.

“Yes, Jim,” he growled, and ground his hips against Jim’s once again. Jim whined desperately into their kiss, and his hand gripped Spock’s hair. In return, Spock kept him pinned under his hungry mouth as his hand slid underneath his loose trousers, pushing them down over his buttocks. Jim gasped, his mouth open fully, head tossed back as Spock kept thrusting, a perfect slide up and down Jim’s cock, both of them still covered by fabric.

“Oh, oh my god, Spock,” Jim croaked out. Spock stalled his movements. Jim panted, trying to get his breathing back under control, and Spock moved to mouth at his neck, biting the skin under his jawbone. Jim’s breath evened out, but he twitched with Spock’s careful nips at his skin and smiled. 

///

The bed was generous, as it was a room for an officer; but still slim for two. 

Spock kissed Jim all over for long minutes, exploring every inch of him as he undressed him-- like it was the first time once more. 

In some ways, it was-- Jim’s body had changed since their last clandestine encounter: a little after the end of the five year mission. It was a sunny day in Jim’s San Francisco apartment, a new unit that came with his increase in rank. Spock had taken him over the cold tiled counter in front of the window, his eyes feasting hungrily on Jim’s broad shoulders; his long fingers tickling over Jim’s ribs as he slammed inside him. Jim had come, untouched on the hard, clean floor. They had fucked all over the apartment, christening it. 

They had been in love.

Jim had even bought rings. 

He had felt ridiculous; he didn’t even know if a Vulcan would want to get married in the tradition Jim was used to. He assumed they might know; at least by virtue of Sarek’s marriage to a human woman, and his status as an Ambassador. But even if that were the case, Jim thought he’d feel silly if he didn’t have rings with him when he proposed. 

And then, something shifted in Spock; over the course of the night.

He left in the morning, with barely a word. 

///

“I’m ready-- stay with me.” 

Jim looked worried as he pulled away from their kiss, eyes boring into Spock’s even in the dim light. 

Starlight dappled his face as he brushed the soft skin of his palm over Spock’s stubbly cheek and chin. He kissed him again, and they each breathed in the other’s air. 

“Don’t worry. You always were-- _thorough_,” Jim continued, biting his lip. “I’m fine-- I need you. Please?” 

Frantic magnetism pulled them together again; Jim straddling Spock’s hips, rocking against him. Jim held himself just above Spock, their naked bodies tacky with exertion. Jim had reached orgasm sometime between the second and third finger scissoring him open.

Jim ran his fingers through Spock’s chest hair, digits catching in his curls-- his hair going haywire in the humidity. 

Spock followed his kisses, muscles slackened from the rush of chemicals in his brain slurring his motions. The abandoned lubricant bottle was jammed underneath him, digging into his ribs, but it didn’t register as irritating. He rolled his hips, stretching the base of his spine and savouring the release in his tense muscles and spine; the heat of Jim’s naked rear just above him. 

Jim sank down and trapped the head of Spock’s prick underneath his sac, hot and wet with an enthusiastic application of lubricant. With every rock backward, Spock felt the hot pressure in his belly rise again, threatening to send him over the edge with every second.

Jim leaned down, kissing his mouth. He tapped Spock’s knees one at a time, indicating that he raise them and plant his feet on the bed. 

He reached down behind himself and grasped Spock’s dick with a spit-slicked hand and pumped. Spock shouted, rocking upward, hips juddering.

“Ready?” he asked, against Spock’s mouth.

Spock gripped his waist. “I would be--” Jim smiled, pumping Spock’s thick shaft with a firm, slow stroke. “Yes, I--” Spock abandoned his response and nodded-- then started with realization, fumbling for the lubricant bottle. He spread the lube over himself with haste and, discarding the bottle, lined himself up with Jim’s entrance.

Jim put his hands over Spock’s rib-cage for support, his huffed breaths quickening as Spock pressed himself inside. Jim was relaxed and slick, but the angle made for a tight fit.

///

He guided the head into Jim’s hole and he slid down in one fluid motion. Spock could feel the shape of his cock against the walls of Jim’s channel, head meeting a soft resistance. Jim rolled his hips experimentally, his face blissful; eyes closed tight.

Above him, Jim rocked and rode him slowly. He was lost in sensation, sticky cock slowly re-filling with blood. Spock greedily explored his torso with his hands, watching the contrast of sage fingers over the golden skin. There was a healthy, thick layer of fat over Jim’s strong muscles-- and Spock revelled in the chance to explore his body while he was lost in thought and feeling.

Spock steadied himself by planting his feet into the mattress, and widening his stance.

He thrust up into Jim, who moaned long and loud as though surprised. 

“Oh, fuck-- Oh my g--” another thrust. 

Jim steadied himself with his hands splayed over Spock’s pectorals and rib cage, but couldn’t find purchase. He brought his arms around Spock, underneath his shoulder blades, and arched his back. Jim tried to keep the same pace, bobbing up and down at this new angle-- but strong hands moved down and cupped his spread buttocks, tracing the stretched and slick skin of his entrance, and he moaned. 

All Jim could do was hang on. His head thrown back, Spock laid awkward kisses to his neck and the hollow of his clavicle, as he thrust up mercilessly into Jim. He could not control his own voice either, and found himself absently aware of his own shouts filling the room. 

Staccato cries escaped Jim’s throat. He arched further backwards and moved his hands up to encircle Spock’s neck. He was hard and his balls were trapped in the slick, sweaty hollow of their entwined bodies.

Jim came as Spock drove his shaft inside him at a frantic pace, relentlessly driving into his prostate, and fell limply against his lover. He shuddered and whimpered, and Spock kept driving into him blindly, chasing his orgasm. With a handful of final, trembling thrusts, he buried himself deep inside Jim and spent himself. 

///

Gingerly, he lifted Jim’s supple body up and pulled out.

Jim laid against him, still straddling his waist; head tucked into the crook of his shoulders, catching his breath.

Spock could do little more than breathe, and try to regain his equilibrium. His legs fell awkwardly to the sides and back down to the mattress, each muscle group now useless from the exertion; unresponsive. 

With great effort, he rolled his head toward Jim and kissed whatever he could, and his hands moved just enough over the skin on Jim’s backside to let him know he was still there. 

His hands wandered down Jim’s belly. The skin was plump and healthy, but held scars foreign to Spock’s touch, and a smattering of stretch marks-- some old and some fresh. He felt a strange urge-- an urge to wax poetic about these scars; made by rapidly developing muscle and a healthy diet. A productive youth-- yet interspersed with periods of stress, and a marked increase in cortisol; rendering the skin more rigid creating stria across his belly in vertical spears filed with scar tissue that he traced with lips and tongue-

“You've been down there a while, hon- you like my stretch marks?" jim asked, voice rough with sleep, his mouth curling around the words with a self conscious smile.

"Yes Jim," Spock's own voice was distorted as he spoke against Jim's warm skin, unwilling to part from it. He crouched over Jim, laying kisses anywhere he could reach; the blanket tented over his shoulders. Jim slung his legs wide apart, to give Spock access to _whatever_ he wanted, and Spock ran the pad of his thumb and his knuckles over his soft, untensed inner thigh. the other leg lay on the bed and his cock in the middle, engorged and glistening.

He did not answer Jim’s question. 

He sat back on his heels and took Jim’s hand and he bent down to kiss the dorsal side, then turned it over and did the same to the palm. The energy between them was particularly strong here, and it crackled as Spock took Jim's fore and middle fingers into his mouth and sucked, swirling his tongue and bobbing his head.

At this, Jim made a sound of surprised arousal. Spock abandoned the hand and Jim rested it on Spock's shoulder, the saliva covered fingers cold against his exposed skin. He bent down and took Jim's cock into his mouth, calculatedly sloppy and imprecise. He bobbed and sucked, holding Jim’s gaze by sheer force of will, until he was rewarded with a broken cry. He pulled off, leaving Jim just shy of complete.

"Now that I have been starved of your body after engorging myself in my first exposure to it," he said, punctuating the words with kisses all over Jim's body, “I want for nothing more."

He took Jim’s cock in his mouth yet again, fisting the base and pulling him that much closer before releasing him.

“In short-- yes, Jim. I very much do _like_ your stretch marks. 

Jim looked down at him with an expression of disbelief, blushing a deep pink. He tried to laugh to break the tension but it came out as more of an overwhelmed squeak and he traced Spock’s face slowly with his fingertips. Spock felt a strong tug deep inside his chest at the same time as Jim’s touch beckoned him upwards. He took Jim’s mouth with his own, if only to feel him smiling. 

He took Jim’s prick in his hand and pumped him. Jim thrust lazily, deepening their kiss and rolling their bodies so he lay on top. Spock traced his fingers down Jim’s spine, slick with sweat and nestled in a valley between rising hills of muscle and fat. He gripped his backside and kneaded the flesh as he widened the grip of his hand to hold Jim’s cock fast to his own against his belly. Jim moaned, thrusting harder, turning his head to catch his breath. Jim spat twice into his open palm and brought his hand to join Spock’s, coating them both with makeshift lubricant. Jim thrust faster, his elbows braced over Spock’s shoulders. Spock brought his hand down slowly and indulged himself in the feel of the space between Jim’s cheeks, sliding his fingers up and down, the hint of a touch over his hole. 

Jim made a desperate noise. Spock pushed the tip of his middle finger inside of him, then further inside in tiny increments-- and Jim was his; writhing under his touch, hips undulating, the tacky skin of his prick on Spock’s and the slide of it up and down the core shaft. With a jolt of surprise, Jim came; over Spock’s stomach and their hands. He gasped against Spock’s face as he held him through it, gritting his teeth against his own orgasm. Jim twitched with the aftershocks and laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> If you find any typos etc, please let me know. I miss things often.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Come and yell at me on my [tumblr](https://lovelybydecay.tumblr.com/).


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